Birthday Girl

She’s giving a presentation at the opening of the botanical gardens she designed for the new museum in Rockford tomorrow. After college, she worked for a firm for several years but decided to start her own last year. The museum was her first, big solo project, and not only are the clients extremely pleased with her work, but word of it has brought in several new projects already. She’s an artist.

But one who hates public speaking, so I’m thinking it’ll be painful but short tomorrow.

“Just remember.” I kiss her hair. “We get to climb in the car and hit the road afterward.”

Her arms tighten around me. “Can’t wait.”

After the presentation, we’re driving up to Minnesota where we rented a lake house for two weeks. Her sister Cam and the latest in a string of wealthy boyfriends also rented a house nearby, so they’re bringing her son with them, and we’ll have company when we feel like it.

And someone to take the kids off our hands for a night when we don’t.

Her fingers trail down my chest, and she drags her nails lightly down my stomach. My body starts to come alive under my skin, and I don’t think I can sleep until I get it out of my system.

“So, you awake now?” I tease.

She nods. “You?”

“It’s hard to sleep when you do that.”

She laughs and raises herself up, sliding a leg over my body and straddling me. “Oh, goodie.”

She lifts her shirt over her head, and I immediately touch her stomach, feeling the hard little mound where my son or daughter sits.

She smirks down at me, cocks her head playfully, and I still see that girl crawling on the floor of the movie theater every time I look at her. She had me even then.

“I love you,” I tell her.

Coming down, she hovers over me, looking into my eyes as my hand goes to her breast.

“Oh, wait.” She pops up and leans over to blow out the candle.

“No, leave it on,” I groan, rolling my hips up into her. “I want to see you.”

She looks down at me. “Did you lock the door?”

I make a face. “Shit.”

Why do I always forget that? I’ve only had kids for over half my life.

“Can’t have them getting an eyeful, can we?” she scolds but smiles at me.

Leaning back over, she closes her eyes, pauses a moment, thinking, and then opens them again, softly blowing out the candle. The room goes dark except for the moonlight making the rain shimmer on our bedroom wall, and I see her outline come back down on top of me.

I squeeze her hips, feeling her grind on me. “You ever going to tell me what you wish for?” I ask.

She kisses me, whispering against my lips, “It’s bad luck to tell.”

She moves down my neck, and I arch my head back and close my eyes, letting her in.

“But I will say,” she goes on, nibbling my jaw, “I always wish for the same thing, and every day it comes true.”

THE END